


Rumpelstiltskin

by Sanalith



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanalith/pseuds/Sanalith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a leaf from the traditional Rumpelstiltskin fairytale, Rumbelle style! Once Upon a Time has yet to show us their version of the traditional Rumpelstiltskin story, so I decided to take a stab at it with a Rumbelle twist! This fic stars Maurice as the tale-telling Miller, Belle as his uniquely talented daughter, Gaston as their gold-loving lord, and Rumpelstiltskin as...well, Rumpelstiltskin! Additional cameos from some other familiar OUaT faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, on the edge of a small realm, there lived a miller named Maurice. The miller was not particularly bright or well-educated, but he was known throughout the land for his congeniality and kindness. He was never too busy to socialize with his customers or join them for a pint of ale at the local tavern. His mill was old but sturdy, and had been passed down from generation to generation, so he knew his trade well. He was honest and fair, was never known to cheat his customers, and was therefore well-liked by all. ****  
  
Though the mill provided a stable income, Maurice was by no means wealthy, especially considering the high taxes levied by his ruler, the mighty Lord Gaston. His cottage was snug and sturdy but not at all grand, his clothing warm and comfortable but not fashionable. He did, however, boast one jewel within his home: His only daughter, Belle.  
  
Maurice was a widower, his wife having died nearly 20 years ago when Belle was not quite a year old. The villagers mourned her passing, as she’d been a great beauty and a kind, gentle soul. Belle, everyone agreed, took after her dear-departed mother in all these traits. Lovely of face and generous of spirit, Belle gave pleasure to all she met. She also, so her father noted, inherited her mother’s curiosity and love of learning. What little coin Belle earned by assisting neighbors was spent on books, whenever a traveling peddler happened to stop in the village. At night, she read by the light of a single candle until her eyes could no longer remain open, transporting herself into different worlds and different times. ****  
  
The miller doted on his beautiful and intelligent daughter, and nothing in the world meant more to him than her happiness. Maurice was sure that she was destined for great things, that someday she would catch the eye of a handsome and wealthy man who would whisk her away to his castle and give her the elegant life she so deserved. Such an indulgence was understandable. Fathers often doted on their daughters, after all, and especially when said daughter grew up to take the place of a mother. But poor Maurice was so enamored with his child that well-deserved praise began turning into something a bit more unhealthy...not to mention unwise.  
  
It began innocently enough. Small exaggerations here or there, often to secure Belle a temporary job so she could earn money for her books. If a neighbor needed a cleaner or a mender of clothes, Maurice didn’t hesitate to extol his girl’s talents, claiming that she had previous experience that she, in fact, lacked. Often enough, Belle’s hardworking nature allowed her to complete these tasks beautifully, but she begged her father not to lie on her behalf. Each time, Maurice promised he would not, yet he could not seem to help himself, and the pattern continued to repeat.  
  
In most cases, the townsfolk laughed at Maurice’s boasting, knowing he simply adored his daughter beyond what was considered normal. But Belle worried that someday her father would go too far, and one of his tall tales would fall upon the ears of someone who didn’t know any better. Someone who had no reason not to believe Maurice was telling the truth.  
 ****  
Someone like the captain of their lord’s guard, who came to collect their yearly taxes.  
  
And that, of course, is where our story begins. ****  



	2. Straw into Gold

It is often noted by poor and rich alike that all the world’s problems begin and end with money, and for the vassals under Lord Gaston’s rule, truer words had never been spoken...especially when it was time for their twice annual tribute.  
  
Maurice felt his stomach clench when he saw the tax collector approaching, mentally counting the bags of grain piled in his storeroom and the small amount of coin in his tiny safe. He knew he had enough to cover everything - barely - but money had become tighter than ever recently and he’d been ever so slightly worried. He and Belle wouldn’t starve – he’d never let it come to that – but an early frost this season was already stretching everyone to to their limit.  
  
Brushing off dirt from his jacket and quickly pumping some water to rinse his grimy hands, Maurice pasted what he hope was a subservient smile on his face and opened the door to admit Hordor, captain of Lord Gaston’s guard.  
  
“It’s tax time again!” he greeted cheerfully, clearly relishing his duty. “You have your payment ready, of course.”  
  
“Yes, Captain, sir, of course,” Maurice agreed, giving a bow and gesturing to toward his storeroom. “Five bags of my best grain, ready and waiting for you.”  
  
“Oh dear me, no, not five, my friend!” Hordor clapped Maurice on the shoulder. “Times have been rough, have they not? Nasty frost, bad rain, even whispers of the ogres becoming restless again! Five bags isn’t fair at all, don’t you agree?”  
  
Maurice felt his spirits lift. “Times have indeed been hard, your lordship! Very much so. How generous of you to realize that and take pity on us poor workers! What will you take then? Two bags? Three?”  
  
Hordor laughed, but it was a dark sound. “I’m afraid you misunderstood me, friend miller.” His eyes hardened. “Times have been tough for us _all_ , including our dear Lord Gaston. He has therefore found it necessary to _raise_ taxes to compensate.” Turning to his waiting guards, he ordered, “Take eight sacks of grain and load them on the cart.”  
  
“Eight?” Before he could think, Maurice grasped Hordor’s arm in supplication. “But sir, that will all but deplete my store! If I have no grain, what shall my daughter and I eat?”  
  
“You will simply have to work harder, miller, as do we all,” Hordor retorted, shaking off the offending arm. “I’ve had too many of you peasants trying to get out of paying our lord his well-deserved taxes, and I’ll not be moved by claims of poverty that clearly have more to do with laziness and idleness. Work and earn your keep. That is the way of the things.”  
  
Maurice watched helplessly as Hordor’s men loaded the last of the bags onto their wagon, and were soon on their way to their next poor victim. Maurice swallowed, knowing there was only one bag of grain left, and the few coppers in his safe would buy little to nothing from the town merchants. What was he to do?  
  
***********  
  
Maurice didn’t have the heart to confess what had happened to Belle, so he slipped out to join several of his friends at the local tavern before she returned home from her latest job, mending a sickly neighbor’s clothing. The topic among all the patrons was, of course, the excess taxes, and how everyone was worried about surviving the coming winter. Maurice ordered a pint of ale, though he could scarce afford it, and plunked himself down dejectedly by two of his closest friends, James and Thomas.  
  
“One of bag of wheat,” James was mourning, clutching his own mug tightly. “That was all the bastard left me. Probably would have taken all my vegetables, too, if they hadn’t been so damaged by the frost.” One of the principal farmers in their village, James felt more than his own desperation for food. The downcast eyes of his customers tore at his heart when they came to buy food he no longer had. Snow, his long-time wife, could often be found weeping when she had to turn away young children begging for scraps. They shielded their burdens from their daughter, Emma, as best as they could, but even she couldn’t fail to see her parents’ pain.  
  
Thomas, who ran a tiny bakery with his young bride, Ella, shook his head. “I barely have enough flour to make bread for my own family, to say nothing of selling. I had only five loaves this morning, and all were gone within the first hour! And Ella with child! How will we ever survive with less food and yet another mouth to feed?”  
  
“People are getting desperate,” Maurice agreed sadly. “If only winter wasn’t coming so early this year.”  
  
James waved his hand in dismissal. “We’ve weathered long and hard winters before. If it were only that, we’d get through it as we always do. It’s these extra taxes that will kill us! What call do these high and mighty lords have to charge us more, when we’re clearly making less? They already have their large castles and fine clothing. Why must they take what little we have as well?”  
  
“It’s the way of the world,” Thomas noted gloomily, staring down into his mug. “The rich will always be rich, and the poor will remain poor.”  
  
“Well, _I’m_ not going to just sit around and wait for my food to run out!” Maurice declared. “I’m already working on a plan to fix this, you wait and see. We’ll make out all right.”  
  
James barked out a laugh. “And how do you plan to do that, hm? I daresay the mill isn’t doing any better than my farm or Thomas’ bakery. Food is scarce for everyone, and you can’t just make gold appear about of thin air.”  
  
“Who said anything about thin air? I’ll just…why I’ll…I’ll…” Maurice grouped for an answer, then suddenly grinned. “I’ll have _Belle_ make up the lost wages! Yes, yes, just you wait and see. She has a new talent we’ve just discovered, one that will save us all.”  
  
“Oh good lord, here we go again,” James groaned, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Look, Maurice, Belle is lovely and talented, no one will deny that but…” Thomas shook his head. “It’s about time you stop indulging in these fantasies, you know? She’s just a simple girl. She can’t make crops grow or mint new coins.”  
  
“But I tell you it’s true!” Maurice protested, his chest puffing up with pride. “You know how beautifully Belle makes her clothing and blankets, don’t you? Just the other day, she was spinning at her wheel, and instead of her normal thread, out came a spool of pure gold!”  
  
James raised an eyebrow. “Gold? Spun by your daughter on a common spinning wheel.” He drained the rest of his ale. “This is a tall tale even for _you_ , Maurice! It’s plain impossible!”  
  
“Say what you will, it happened,” he insisted. “In fact, just to see if it was a fluke, I gave her a…a handful of straw! Yes, indeed! And even _that_ she spun into gold! I tell you, there is no woman in this world more gifted, more talented, more___”  
  
“More chained to a father with complete delusions of grandeur,” Thomas completed. “Really, Maurice, let it go! It was cute the first few times you exaggerated about her, and I know how important she is to you, but this has to stop before you actually start believing it!”  
  
“You’ll see,” Maurice promised, rising from the table with a firm nod. “The next time Captain Hordor comes tax collecting, we’ll have such riches he won’t know what hit him.”  
  
“Of course you will, Maurice, of course,” Thomas agreed, shaking his head. “Have her make a gold dress for Ella while she’s at it, and a new shawl for Snow.”  
  
James and Thomas laughed well into the evening after Maurice departed, sharing this latest fantasy with the rest of the patrons. All enjoyed the miller’s company, and while they often tired of his boasts, they were of course harmless, and they rather pitied his sweet and honest daughter for bearing the brunt of such tales.  
  
But in the corner of the tavern, one man was not laughing, though a smile that had nothing to do with humor was crossing his hard lips. Face hidden behind a black cowl, Captain Hordor watched and listened. Assuming there would be backlash against the increase in taxes, he’d hidden himself in the tavern to listen for local gossip. He’d half-hoped to hear talk of treason, of a plot against his life or a horrid slander against their honored Lord Gaston. He’d been spoiling for a fight these past few weeks.  
  
Instead, he heard fantastic tales of the miller’s daughter, of her father’s outrageous claim, and an even lovelier plot was hatching in his mind.  
  
It was all harmless gossip, of course. Nothing even close to treason. But lying to one’s lord certainly was, and Hordor had never really liked the miller.  
  
Grinning to himself, the captain tossed down a coin for his drink and slunk out, heading back toward the castle. He had a story of his own to tell Lord Gaston, and then he had a feeling he’d be paying another visit to Miller Maurice and his delightful daughter.


	3. The Miller's Daughter

When Maurice finally returned home, he found his daughter – unsurprisingly – curled up in front of a small fire with a thick book. She jumped to her feet at his entrance, her eyes betraying worry and relief.

“There you are, Papa! I was beginning to wonder if something happened to you!”

Maurice smiled tenderly, holding out his arms for a brief embrace. “I’m sorry, darling girl, I didn’t mean to distress you. I was only speaking with James and Thomas.”

Belle bit her lip, not quite sure how to approach her true worry. “I went to the storeroom earlier for ingredients to make dinner, and…” She hesitated, then burst out, “Oh, Papa, where is all our food?”

“Now, now, dearest, don’t you be worrying your pretty little head about that.” Maurice smiled and ran his fingers through her thick, dark curls. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“But the grain__” Belle began.

“Captain Hordor was here for taxes this afternoon, and I think he overcharged us,” Maurice soothed. “Tomorrow, I’ll travel to the castle and work everything out.”

“Oh Papa!” Belle smiled sadly, placing a hand on his cheek. “You can’t just waltz into the castle and ask for our grain back.” She sighed. “Besides, I heard enough rumors on my way home. They increased the taxes without warning again, didn’t they?”

“As I said, there’s nothing for you to worry about.” Maurice patted her hand gently. “The mill is still good and strong, this early frost can’t last forever, and your beauty and talents continuously recommend you so highly to our neighbors whenever they need help.” He smiled. “I’ve no doubt that we’ll get through this, Belle. No doubt at all.”

And despite such overwhelming evidence to the contrary, her father’s smiles were so infectious and his words so sincere that Belle couldn’t help laughing. “We will, indeed,” she agreed softly. “As long as we have each other, we can get through anything.”

Of course, that’s when a loud knock came at their door.

“Who could that be at such a late hour?” Belle wondered. The sky was darkening and the first stars were just barely visible. Their village was generally a safe one, but most folk chose not to venture out after nightfall just in case. Rumors of a huge wolf stalking a town not far from here had everyone on edge lately.

“Perhaps a neighbor in need of assistance,” Maurice said. “No bother, I’ll get it.”

Belle followed her father to the front of their cottage, and felt her heart skip a beat when he opened the door to reveal Captain Hordor.

“Well well, friend miller, we meet again!” Hordor’s tone was genial, but his smile was all teeth. “Forgive me for bothering you so late, but I come from the castle with urgent business that could not wait until morning.”

“Oh, of course, sir, of course,” Maurice replied hurriedly, doffing his hat in deference. “I…errr…do hope there was nothing wrong with our taxes? Or perhaps…” His mouth turned up hopefully. “Perhaps, in Lord Gaston’s endless generosity, you’ve discovered some grain that needed to be returned?”

Hordor laughed, and Belle flinched at the harsh sound. “That’s why I like you, miller. You’re an endless source of humor.” His eyes narrowed abruptly. “No, I’ve not come about your grain, but I _have_ been made aware of a certain service you, or rather, your lovely daughter, could provide for us.”

“My daughter?” Maurice glanced over his shoulder at Belle, who looked just as confused as he did.

“Yes, you’re daughter.” Hordor peered around Maurice to give Belle a slow smile, which made her shiver. “I’ve heard she has rather…unique talents that Lord Gaston would be most interested in utilizing.”

Maurice brightened immediately. “Oh indeed, sir! My Belle is the most talented young lady in the entire realm!” Stepping back, he placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her forward. “I have no doubt that she can perform whatever tasks are needed, and better than anyone else!”

“Papa,” Belle whispered, trying to back away, “I do not think___”

“Splendid, splendid!” Hordor beamed, as though Belle had no spoken. “I knew the rumors had to be true. They were too fantastic not to be!” His smile turned almost leering. “Her beauty, at least, was not exaggerated.”

“Of course not!” Maurice’s smile only grew. “Belle takes after her late mother in both talent and beauty. She is…well, she’s the belle of the land!”

“Then it’s settled. You shall come to the castle with me, where your daughter will perform a certain service for us. She will be well compensated for her success, of course.”

Maurice couldn’t believe his luck. How perfect, how grand! Nothing could better compensate for his sudden lack of grain. Just wait until he shared his good fortune with James and Thomas!

Hordor clapped his hands and two guards appeared at his side. “Escort the miller and his daughter to the carriage. Our lord eagerly awaits them.”

As Maurice preened under the attention, Horder turned to Belle and gave her a mocking bow. “This way, my lady.”

Belle inclined her head stiffly, but inside her heart was racing.

No good, she feared, could come of this. No good at all.


	4. The Challenge

Belle fidgeted in the carriage as they rode toward the castle. She’d just barely been able to grab her shawl before the guards herded her out of her cottage, and she clutched it tightly around her shoulders. Hordor’s eyes still burned into her mind, and they made her shiver.

“I knew this would happen one day,” Maurice was saying happily, leaning back in the plush seat as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “I knew your beauty and talents had a purpose. It was only a matter of time before our lord noticed you. Now you’ll have your chance to impress him, and before you know it, you’ll be living the lovely life you’ve always wanted. The life you deserve.” He shook his head, almost in wonder. “You’ll be a princess, Belle, as you were always meant to. If only your mother could see you now. How proud she’d be!”

“Papa, you need to calm yourself,” Belle said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “I do not believe this is merely a social call. Lord Gaston does not summon commoners to his castle without reason, and I sincerely doubt it is because of my so-called beauty and talents.” She turned her head to gaze out the window into the darkness. “Something else is going on,” she said softly, “and I do not like it.”

“Now, dear, you’re worrying far too much about this.” Maurice reached across the carriage and patted her hand. “You heard Captain Hordor yourself. Lord Gaston learned of your many talents and wants you to use them, and we’ll be rewarded for it!” He let out a contented sigh. “Just think of it, Belle. He may give us gold, or land, or perhaps even noble titles! It’s a dream come true.”

Belle shook her head but remained silent, knowing that this entire escapade was certainly more nightmare than dream come true. Talking was worse than useless; there was no reasoning with her father when he was like this. She had no idea when or how he’d managed to convince himself that his only daughter was practically a deity incarnate, able to perform any task perfectly with no trouble at all _and_ look beautiful doing it, but it was a fantasy she dearly wished he’d give up.

If it wasn’t already too late.

The carriage halted a few moments later, and Hordor himself opened their door. “Miss Belle,” he said with his dark smile, holding out a gloved hand. “Welcome to the castle.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Gingerly, Belle reached out and grasped his hand as lightly as she could, and pulled away as soon as her toes touched the ground. Sensing her discomfort, he continued to smile, and Belle’s fear only grew. This was not a man to be happy unless something horrible was about to happen.

“This way, both of you,” he said, gesturing to the grand double-door entrance. “Lord Gaston awaits.”

While Maurice oohed and ahhed over the riches they passed as they made their way to the Great Hall, Belle walked silently, keeping her eyes straight in front of her. She had absolutely no idea what to expect – she’d never even seen Lord Gaston before, except at a great distance during festivals – and she didn’t know anything about his temperament. And while she was fairly certain they hadn’t been dragged all this way just to have their heads randomly cut off, she was equally sure they weren’t going to be receiving any royal titles.

So what _was_ this all about?

When at last they reached the Great Hall, Hordor threw open the doors dramatically, and Belle entered a room larger than her entire cottage. Glancing up, she saw an elevated ceiling that must have risen at least twenty feet high, supported by thick golden pillars. The walls glittered with uncut gems that must have come straight from the dwarf mines, and were hung with thick tapestries clearly woven by master craftsmen. Around the hall fluttered several dozen noblemen and women in elegant clothing, while black-clad servants fetched food and drink. The conversation hushed when Belle and her father entered the room, though she saw many of the women whispering behind their fans. Hordor gave them not a single glance as he led them to the very end of the hall, which held a blazing fireplace and a large golden throne.

And upon that throne sat the handsomest man Belle had ever seen.

Despite being known as the “beauty” of the village, Belle never paid much attention to looks. People were born with what faces the gods gave them, their mode of work often dictated their build (blacksmiths built up more muscles than bakers, clearly), and they wore what clothing they could afford. What benefit could there be of judging a person based on something that was so clearly out of their control? But it seemed that all these elements had combined to find favor with Lord Gaston, for even Belle could not ignore his physical perfection. Lean but clearly strong, muscular but not bulky, with shoulder-length black hair, piercing eyes and a face that could have been chiseled by a master sculptor, Gaston resembled a classic, almost textbook perfect prince.

But though he smiled and greeted them warmly, Belle noticed that, like his captain, the smile never quite reached those deep brown eyes.

“So, you must be my miller, Maurice,” Gaston said, leaning back in his throne. “Your family has served mine well for many generations, have they not?”

“Yes indeed, your lordship!” Maurice enthused, bowing low and sweeping his wide-brimmed hat from his head with a flourish. “No subjects have ever been so devoted, I assure you.”

Gaston turned his eyes to Belle, and despite her reservations, she couldn’t help but melt ever so slightly under his intensely hot gaze. “And this positively enchanting creature must be your daughter.”

“Yes sir, yes sir.” Maurice placed an arm about her waist and drew her foreword. “This is my most precious girl, my Belle.”

“Belle.” Gaston rolled the name around his tongue as he rose, extending his hand. “A perfect name for such an astounding beauty.”

Belle curtseyed formally, then slowly placed her hand in his. “You are too kind, my lord,” she murmured.

“You think I speak only out of politeness?” Gaston gave her a smile that was almost blinding, then leaned down to gently kiss her hand. “Trust me, my dear, I never joke about beauty.”

Belle raised her eyes to meet his, and a shiver ran unbidden down her spine. He possessed charisma in spades, and a part of her wanted to relax under his warmth, but anxiety skill skittered across her heart. What did this man want of her?

Releasing her, Gaston stepped back and re-seated himself on his throne, gesturing for Hordor to stand next to him. “I should explain why I summoned you here so late in the night. While out collecting taxes for me, my good captain here paused for some refreshment in your local tavern. While there, he heard tales of Miss Belle’s most extraordinary talents.”

“Well, sir, I can’t say I’m overly surprised about that,” Maurice said proudly, placing a hand on Belle’s shoulder. “The entire town knows how smart she is, and neighbors are always coming ‘round to make use of her many skills.”

“Indeed, I am certain they would.” Gaston rested his chin in his hands. “I must admit, however, that Hordor mentioned one skill in particular that I would be most interested in utilizing. He understood it to be a recently discovered talent, else I assure you I would have called upon her sooner.”

“All my skills are, of course, at your disposal, my lord,” Belle offered, dipping into another curtsey and forcing her voice to remain strong. “But, and forgive me for saying so, my lord has an army of servants at his command. I cannot think what service I may provide that they cannot.”

“Now, Belle, stop being so modest!” Maurice interjected hurriedly, stepping forward. “You know you do so many things better than anyone else. That’s why our friends always come to you with their problems first!”

Belle opened her mouth to object, but Gaston raised his hand. “I must concur with your father. Based on my captain’s report, you do indeed have a special skill that eclipses all others.”

“And she is more than willing to share it with you, my lord, I assure you,” Maurice promised. “Now, please, what may we do for you?”

Gaston leaned forward, and his eyes suddenly blazed with need as he gazed at Belle. “I want you to spin me some straw into gold,” he whispered.

Belle’s jaw dropped open, and beside her she felt her father turn as stiff as a statue. “My..my lord?”

“Straw into gold. You will spin some for me.” Gaston rubbed his hands together. “I admit, I could not believe my ears when Hordor told me of this, but considering how vehemently your father claimed__”

“My _father_?” In shock, Belle whirled to face Maurice, who was clutching his hat in a white-knuckled grip.

“I…I…” Maurice licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men and his daughter. “I…do not recall this conversation we had, Captain, sir.”

Hordor smiled his evil grin. “Oh, we never spoke personally,” he agreed. “But I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation in the tavern with your two friends. The farmer and the baker, I believe they were?”

“James and Thomas,” Belle whispered faintly, horror dawning. “Papa, you were talking with James and Thomas about this…this…” This fantasy, this tall tale, this _lie_! She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to accuse him in front of their rulers.

Hordor tapped his chin. “Now, let me see. How did it go? You claimed you could make up your lost inventory with your daughter’s help. You said you’d discovered this new skill of hers only a few days ago, and that the next time I came tax collecting, I would be presented with such riches that I wouldn’t believe my eyes.” He gazed down at Maurice. “Does that sound about right, miller?”

Maurice gulped. “Sir, I beg you, please understand___”

“Of course, I didn’t believe the claim at first.” Hordor waved his hand dismissively. “How could such a wild tale be true? But when your friends also declared their incredulity, you swore so sincerely and so confidently that it was the truth…well, I just couldn’t doubt you any longer. I resolved at once to share this news with Lord Gaston, so we could ensure your daughter received the best possible attention.”

Maurice looked as though he was about to die of fright, and Belle’s mind was a pure blank. She’d always known that someday her father’s stories and exaggerations would catch up to them – hence her continued attempts to stop him! – but even in her worst nightmares, she’d never pictured anything like this.

There was only one thing to do, of course. Though she didn’t relish it, Belle would have to tell the truth. She’d explain how devoted he was to her, how she was all he had since her mother died. All fathers are by nature proud of their daughters, after all. Maurice just took his pride to more…stratospheric heights. She hated the idea of exposing him so cruelly, but what else could she do? So often, she’d been able to make her father’s stories true through sheer hard work and stubbornness. She forced herself to learn the skills he claimed she already possessed.

But no amount of hard work and effort could turn straw into gold.

And once glance at Hordor and his ever-present grin told her he knew it.

Bracing herself, Belle stepped forward and opened her mouth to confess, but Gaston chose that moment to rise.

“As was my captain, I am, of course, skeptical of this most fantastic claim. Now perhaps you understand why I could not wait to summon you.” Gaston gestured, and Hordor swept a cloth off what Belle had thought was a low table, revealing a bale of straw.

“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a room for you, my dear.” Gaston smiled at her, almost indulgently. “You’ll have the entire night to spin this straw into gold. I promise you will be rewarded most handsomely for your efforts.”

Belle forced herself to meet his eyes. “My lord, I am afraid that my father has…exaggerated my humble skills, as he is often wont to do.” Her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings in her throat. “Spinning straw into gold is not___”

“It is not easy, is it?” Gaston interjected sympathetically, nodding his head. “I completely understand, which is why I only gave you a single bale, and why I am allowing you privacy instead of commanding you to do it in front of an audience. I would not wish to tax you too much.”

“My lord, please, I beg you to hear me.” Belle wrung her hands desperately. “This is a fantasy, a fairytale! You cannot truly believe I, a simple miller’s daughter, could actually turn straw into gold! That is a job for a…a wizard, or an alchemist at the very least!”

Gaston frowned, looking back and forth between Belle’s pleading face, Maurice’s frightened expression, and Hordor’s stoic gaze. “What trickery is this?” he demanded, his voice suddenly hard. “Hordor heard your father speak of this to his friends. He confessed this conversation took place.” Belle shrank back under his anger. “Speak truly now, madam. Is your father a liar, or are you trying to get out of sharing your endless wealth with your liege lord?”

“Be careful, my dear,” Hordor murmured, bearing his teeth. “Lord Gaston demands loyal subjects, not faithless liars. Such people would be…unwelcome in this realm.”

Shock and horror rippled through Belle as she took his meaning. She had no idea what her family had done to this man – or if he was simply cruel without any provocation – but Hordor had neatly trapped her between a rock and a hard place. If she told the truth, her father would be branded a liar and, if his thinly veiled threats were to be believed, they’d lose their mill, their home, and be exiled from the country.

But if she agreed he was telling the truth, if she claimed she _could_ spin gold from straw…what would happen when she failed?

Belle never considered herself a brave woman, but in that moment, she realized she’d never been in a situation that truly called for courage. If she exposed Maurice now, it was all over. Case closed, end of story. But if she agreed, she bought them time. Not much, only a single night, but…well, miracles happened every once in a while, did they not? And any chance, no matter how slim, was better than none.

Raising her chin and forcing her voice to be calm and strong, Belle met Gaston’s gaze. “Forgive me, my lord, I did not express myself well just now. I meant only to convey that this…this talent of mine is so new and so…surprising…I myself have difficulty believing it. Therefore, I could not blame you for having your own doubts, and I completely understand them.”

Gaston visibly relaxed, and Belle had the small satisfaction of seeing Hordor look truly shocked. He clearly hadn’t expected her to call his bluff. She couldn’t bear to see her father’s reaction, so she forced herself to focus on Gaston.

“I should also explain, sir, that I have yet to fully master this skill, to learn how to control it, and therefore it is somewhat…unreliable.” She lowered her head in an attempt to appear meek. “I beg you to forgive this weakness and not punish me or my father if I fail to provide you with your gold by morning.”

“Of course, of course!” Gaston was all friendliness again. “Learning a new skill is hard for us all, and a magical skill must be doubly difficult. There is no shame in that, none at all.”

“Indeed, sir, it is quite wearisome,” Belle agreed fervently, allowing herself a moment of hope. “I so appreciate your understanding.” Her mind raced, wondering if – after her inevitable failure – she could plead exhaustion and ask to go home and rest, and instead beg enough coin from everyone in the village and put together enough gold to satisfy him. Everyone was poor, it was true, but even if they could spare a single coin each….

But Gaston’s next words dashed all her hopes.

“I will, of course, hope for your success tonight, but if not, I have no qualms with housing you in my castle until you become proficient enough to spin on command. It will be easier for you to learn your trade here, without distraction, and I promise you will be quite comfortable.” Gaston reached out and captured a tendril of Belle’s hair, rubbing the thick curl between his fingers. “I have no doubt that one so lovely could learn to bend even gold to her will,” he whispered.

Belle swallowed, begging silently for some way out of this mess. But no fairy godmother came to her rescue, and no one gave her a pinch to awaken her from what must surely be a nightmare. The floor didn’t even have the decency to open up and swallow her whole.

Her bars might be made of gold, but she was still well and truly trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been a longish set-up, but look for Rumpel in the next chapter! :D


	5. A Desperate Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter allowed me to address a pet peeve of mine I’ve had since I first read the original Rumpelstiltskin fairytale. In all versions, the Daughter offers her savior golden objects for his services, generally a necklace and a ring. But as our imp put it so perfectly, he…ummm…makes gold?

Gaston and Hordor barely allowed Belle to say goodbye to her father. He clutched her to him convulsively, almost bruising her arms, and though he tried to speak, she could only make out a desperately whispered apology, repeated over and over again, along with her name.

As Hordor led him out of the castle, Belle wondered if she’d ever see him again.

Thoughts of her father were soon driven from her mind, however, as she came face to face with her own very dire problem. One of Gaston’s many servants escorted her to a small room in one of the castle towers, pushing along the bale of straw in a wooden cart. The room was sparsely furnished, and a large spinning wheel dominated the area with its stark presence. With a nervous smile, the servant guided Belle into the room, then set the straw directly next to a comfortable-looking stool.

“Be you needing anything else for your work, miss?” he asked, ducking his head in a bow.

 _Only a miracle,_ Belle though despondently, but that was not likely something he was carrying in his back pocket. So she forced her lips into a smile, shook her head and thanked him, and before she knew it – before she was truly ready for it – he was gone, and Belle was alone with a nightmare in the shape of a spinning wheel.

Sinking down onto the stool, Belle dropped her head in her hands and allowed herself a moment of pure despair. Never in her life had she felt so helpless. The task before her was simply impossible, and though she’d bought some time, Gaston would not wait forever. Another night, maybe two, and then she’d be exposed as the fraud she was. What would become of her? Of her father? Seizure of their home and assets, followed by a sentence of banishment, was probably the best outcome she could expect. A part of her wondered if Hordor would even allow his lord to be that kind. Prison was far more likely, and possibly even…

Belle shuddered, forcing her mind away from grisly images of nooses and axes. Gaston would not allow such a punishment for a small lie, surely! But even if he spared them, Hordor could still ensure that their lives became a living hell.

When she felt the tears threatening to fall, Belle stood up and rubbed her arms briskly under her shawl. Now then. She’d given time enough over to grief and woe. It was time for action.

Impossible though the task might be, Belle was not the type of woman to sit back and simply let the cards fall as they may. She’d always made her own fate, and that was not going to change now. If it was possible to spin straw into gold, if such a thing could be accomplished with sheer hard work and determination, then by all the gods above, she would make the room glitter this night.

And so for the next several hours, Belle spun. She started out as though the straw was simple thread, hoping against hope that simply _wanting_ it to become gold would somehow make it so. She spun the wheel forward, then backward. She attempted it sitting and standing. She wound the gold within the wheel itself, and she wrapped it around the spindle. She even tried dashing it against the wheel as it spun, randomly, hoping it would be tossed back transformed. She whispered – and shouted – all the incantations she’d ever read about in her books of fantasy. And when all else failed, she fell to her knees and prayed.

But nothing worked. In the end, all she had done was transform a nice, neat bale of straw into a messy pile. There was no glitter. No gold. And how could there be? Such a thing required magic, if even magic could make it work, and she was only a simple miller’s daughter.

And that was when desperation truly enveloped her, and Belle allowed the tears to fall.

Eyes closed, shaking with her sobs, Belle lost all track of time. It might have been minutes or hours, as she sat there with her grief and hopelessness, when all of a sudden a voice murmured into her ear.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Belle shrieked and jumped clear off the stool, whirling around in the direction of the voice. Her hand at her throat, Belle came face to face with the strangest creature she’d ever seen.

At first, he looked like a simply man, or nearly so. He was dressed in an elaborate dragonhide coat with leather pants and high boots. He had a thick mass of wavy shoulder-length hair and large black, black eyes. His skin was the only truly odd part of him, slightly scaly with a green-gold tint. But he was smiling at her, and though the smile wasn’t exactly kind, it did reach his eyes, and Belle sensed no malice from him.

On the other hand….

“Who…who are you?” she demanded, slightly breathless. Glancing behind him, she saw the door to her prison was still firmly shut. “And how did you get in here?”

The imp laughed, a high-pitched, twittering giggle, as he followed her eyes. “For the second, I don’t require doors to go where I like. And for the first__” he gave her an elaborate bow “__let’s just say I’m a friend here to help you.”

“To help me?” Belle shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Hmmmm…how to put it rightly.” He tapped his lips with a talon-like finger, his grin never fading. “I’m a deal maker, you see, and I’m always drawn to those who can make use of my special skills. When your need, your _desperation_ , reaches a certain state…” He spread his arms wide. “Then I appear!”

“I…see…” Belle replied, though she clearly didn’t. Her mind was spinning so fast she was positive she wouldn’t understand even if he were to spell it out for her.

The creature grinned, her confusion clear. “Let’s just say I sensed your need, dearie, and leave it at that. I’m here to see how we might mutually benefit from it.” Gazing around the room at the spinning wheel and straw, he asked, “And what exactly is all this mess from?”

Belle hesitated. Was this some sort of trick? Was Gaston – or, more likely, Hordor – attempting to bait her into revealing the truth? She knew nothing of this strange man. If she poured out her heart, thinking he would help, what would stop him from taking the tale straight back to his master?

“Ah, you must be in more trouble than I thought.” The creature nodded sagely. “You fear my betrayal? Unsurprising, coming from one who is clearly a prisoner. You are wise not to give your trust too easily in such a situation.” Seating himself gracefully on her stool, he crossed his legs and considered her. “Perhaps a small demonstration is in order. You require something that needs magic, or I would not have been drawn to you. Do any of your captors possess such magic?”

Biting her lip, Belle shook her head. “I don’t believe so. No. If they did, they would not think they needed me so badly.”

“Indeed.” With a flick of his wrist, the imp plucked a blood-red rose from out of thin air. Belle gasped, clapping her hands to her mouth, and he gave her the exaggerated grin of a born showman. “In that case, perhaps you’ll believe I am not working for them now?”

Slowly, Belle reached out to touch the offered flower. Its heady scent filled her nostrils, and the petals were warm and velvety soft beneath her fingers. It was real. It was…magic.

“What are you?” she whispered.

“I told you. A friend. Here to help you.” With a flourish, he banished the rose, then nodded to her pile of straw. “Now, tell me. I’ve seen many lovely young maidens locked in nasty towers before, but never one with such curious décor. For what purpose do you require such things?”

The urge to keep her secret was still strong, but the memory of the rose was stronger still. A man who could conjure anything he desired from thin air was clearly more valuable even than a spinner of gold. If Gaston already had this main in his employee, he would have no need of her. Besides, she’d already tried her task and failed, and was on borrowed time as it was. If he did betray her, she’d be losing at most a day or two of being locked in a tower room that smelled of musty straw.

And she was, as he’d noted, quite desperate.

“My father,” she began softly, “told a wild tale. He does such things, you see. He likes to boast about me, tell stories, make me into more than I am.” She smiled faintly. “He does it out of love, but a lie is still a lie. And this time…the wrong person overheard him.” She nodded at the spinning wheel. “He’s convinced Lord Gaston and the captain of his guard that I can spin straw into gold. I am being tested now, and when I fail…” She lowered her eyes.

Beside her, the creature snorted quietly. “Gold. Always it comes down to gold, or jewels, or fine gowns and sprawling castles.” He slated a dark gaze at her. “What is it with you humans and your constant need for material possessions?”

Never having cared for such things herself, Belle could only shake her head, and he sighed. “Ah well, no matter.” His voice lightening to its former, higher pitch, he said, “In any case, today is your lucky day! Such a thing would be no trouble, no trouble at all…” And here his voice lowered once again. “For a price.”

Belle’s jaw dropped. “You mean…you could do it? You could really spin straw into gold?”

He shrugged. “It’s a simple enough thing, to change an object into something else, providing you know the secret.” He grinned again, all teeth. “It’s no more difficult than fashioning a rose out of air.”

Belle’s heart beat faster as she allowed herself the slightest sliver of hope. She needed magic, and he had it. He’d already proved it. If he could indeed make a rose from air, why should he not be able to make straw into gold?

“And you would do this for me?” she pressed, hardly daring to believe it. “You would do this and allow me to take the credit? You would speak of it to no one?”

Rising, the creature swept her another deep bow. “You have my solemn word on that, dearie. My deals are always, _always_ conducted in complete confidence. It will be our little secret!”

Hope was clawing its way up her throat, but Belle forced it back. “You spoke of a price.” She bit her lip, holding out her empty arms. “As you can see, I have no money to pay you.” She laughed bitterly. “Gold, or lack thereof, is my entire problem.”

“Ahhhh, but that’s no problem at all!” The creature’s skin gleamed brighter suddenly, as though flush with excitement. “My price is not literal money, not even close. Make me an offer, dearie. What do you have that is worth trading?”

Glancing down at herself, Belle wracked her brain. She had only what she was wearing, hadn’t even been allowed to pack a small bag, and that left her with very little indeed. She patted her skirt pockets, fingered her bodice, ran her hands up and down her arms, and…

“Oh! My necklace!”

Eagerly, though impeded by numb fingers, Belle unclasped the simple chain from around her neck. “It’s not worth much, I’m afraid, but it’s the most valuable thing I have.” She held it out to him. “Will you take it?”

But the creature’s hands remained at his sides, and when he spoke, his voice was low, though still kind. “Sweet girl, I can feel your desperation, and I know how such strong emotions can cloud one’s judgment. But I want you to think about this. What service will I perform for you?”

Belle blinked. “You said you could spin the straw into gold.”

He nodded encouragingly. “Quite right, and I shall. But what are you offering me in return?”

“A necklace…oh.” Belle’s hand dropped despondently. “A necklace made of gold.”

“Exactly.” The imp smiled as though he was a teacher and she was his new favorite student. “And if I am spinning you gold…”

“…then you clearly have no need for a gold chain,” she concluded, her eyes lowering in shame. How foolish could she be?

“Now, now, dearie, no need to fret. It’s a simple mistake, nothing more. A deal can still be struck. What else can you offer?”

But Belle knew no deal could be made, and she shook her head. “I have nothing else of value,” she admitted. “If you didn’t like my chain, I was going to offer you my ring, but it’s also just a simple band of gold.”

“You’re still thinking of value in human terms,” he chided. “What something is _worth_ goes far beyond what another person will pay for it.” He took a step closer, tipped up her chin, and gazed deeply into her eyes. “I want something…precious. Something _you_ value. Something you love.”

Belle couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t avert her eyes if her life depended on it. She felt like she was drowning in his inky gaze. She shivered slightly, suddenly glad of her shawl.

Her shawl!

Gasping, she broke their strange link, and her hands clutched at the snow-white wool around her shoulders.

“My shawl,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against it. “My mother died when I was hardly a year old, and my father said it was the last thing she ever made.” Her voice caught, sadness enveloping her, as it always did when she tried to remember the parent she never knew. “When I was old enough, Papa gave it to me. He said…he said I should wear it, and pretend it was her…embracing me. Protecting me. Keeping me safe and warm…and loved.” She swallowed. “It would be worth nothing to anyone else, but to me it is very, very precious.”

And this time the creature gave a slow, almost feral smile. “Now we’re talking, dearie.”

Belle slipped the shawl off her shoulders. She held it in her hands for a moment, then, despite the small embarrassment of doing so in front of this strange man, she leaned down and inhaled it deeply. She did this often, pretending she could still smell the delicate, floral scent of which her mother had apparently been so fond. She’d miss this link to her past, but by giving it up, it would still do its job of protecting and sheltering her.

It would save her.

“Will you take it?” she whispered, offering it to him.

“Oh yes,” he replied, his voice just as low. He reached out and gently plucked it from her arms, and then he surprised her by leaning down and inhaling deeply, just as she had. He paused for a moment, then raised his head and smiled. “I can smell your love for it, your desire. This is indeed precious.” He patted it softly, and she noticed how he took care not to tangle his long fingernails in the delicate fabric. “This is a worthy price, and I do promise to treat it with the respect it deserves.”

“I…thank you.” Belle wished she could say more, but things were happening so fast, and her mind was still running in circles. “Thank you.”

The imp nodded, then flicked his wrist, and the shawl disappeared into whatever pocket of space-time he stored his belongings. Then he clapped his hands and turned to the wheel. “And now…to work!” He grinned his gamine grin, laughed his twittering laugh, and reached out a hand. “Let’s make some magic.”

*********

Though she watched him closely throughout the night, Belle had no more idea of how to spin straw into gold than she had that morning. After seeing his powers, she’d been half-convinced he would dispense with the spinning all together and simply snap his fingers. But he claimed some work was more delicate than others, and besides, he rather liked to watch the wheel spin.

Belle was clearly in no position to argue, so she merely handed him handful after handful of straw, watching his nimble fingers as they moved back and forth. She didn’t know anything about magic, but every now and then she swore she felt a heaviness in the air, a tingle along her fingers as she passed him the straw, a spicy smell that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

And as the first fingers of dawn slowly touched the sky, splashing red the color of blood across the heavens, Belle looked down to find herself surrounded by golden thread.

Almost dizzy with the realization, Belle fell to her knees, running her hands through the smooth, ever-so-slightly cool strands. “It’s real,” she whispered, still not completely believing it. “It’s really gold.”

“A deal is a deal,” the strange man replied, in his sing-song voice. “I promised gold, and gold you have!”

Belle shook her head, gazing up at him. “I still don’t understand,” she admitted. “Why would you do this? Why would you help a strange woman you’ve never even met?”

“I told you, dearie. I’m a deal-maker, and I’m always drawn to desperate souls.” He knelt down next to her. “And you were very, very desperate.” He grinned. “I could hear your sobs clear across the kingdom!”

“I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand, but…” She raised her eyes to his, and hers were filled with true gratitude and hope. “Thank you. Thank you so very, very much. This may have been just another deal for you, but it meant _everything_ to me. I know you say it’s what you wanted, but I feel like a simple a shawl is poor payment for potentially saving my life. If there is anything I can ever do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. Anything I have is yours.”

The creature stared at her, and for one brief moment, Belle was convinced he looked surprised, as though he’d never truly seen her before. “That is a very, very dangerous offer to make to someone like me, dearie,” he murmured. And briefly, ever so softly, he reached up and ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

Resisting the sudden – and completely inexplicable – urge to dart out her tongue and touch its tip to his thumb, Belle whispered, “Nevertheless, you have my eternal gratitude, and I won’t forget it.”

His touch lingered for a moment longer. “Neither will I.”

And then he was moving, bounding to his feet, the trickster magician again. “But for now, you have your gold, I have my prize, and magic’s price has been paid. I bid you farewell, dear maiden, until we meet again.”

Belle sunk into a deep curtsey, her eyes shining and her lips forming the first true smile she’d made in what felt like years. “Thank you, kind sir. I will look forward to that meeting with all my heart.”

He swept her bow in return, and then he was gone. No fanfare, no ceremony, no flash of light or crash of thunder. He was there, and then not, and Belle rubbed her eyes. He was gone, but the gold was remained, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Gold. Made from straw. Right before her eyes. Spun by a strange creature with glittering skin, eyes blacker than midnight, and a laugh that would probably give children nightmares for years. But he’d treated her with kindness and respect, even when she’d made a foolish offer, and his smile had been genuine. Genuinely tricky, and genuinely cunning, but true all the same.

Even without her shawl, Belle felt warmth pulsing through her veins.

Angel or demon, he’d been her miracle. That was enough.


	6. Far From Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After an unforgivable hiatus of over eight months, we're back, and I promise this time for good! I want to thank everyone who has left such wonderful and encouraging comments on this fic during my writer's block. It honestly helped more than you will ever know. 
> 
> I want to give a special thank you to Faceless, whose constant comments kept this fic in my mind even when I felt like I'd never have the inspiration to continue it. This chapter is for you, dearie <3

Dawn broke and the sun was beginning its ascent when Belle heard footsteps outside her door. She scrambled to her feet from where she’d been dozing against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest. A quick glance showed the gold was indeed still there, but a part of her couldn’t help but fear something would go horribly wrong. Wasn’t it obvious that _she_ had not spun this treasure? Wouldn’t her captors instantly know that some diabolical magic was at work? Wouldn’t she be punished for such trickery?

Belle needn’t have worried. Even if the sun hadn’t chosen that precise moment to shine its rays directly onto the pile of newly spun gold, the man in the doorway would still have been blinded.

Not knowing who would be sent to retrieve her that morning, Belle braced herself for Captain Hordor’s cruel eyes and leering grin. But it was only the servant who’d locked her in the night before, and she let out a deep breath in silent thanks.

The servant’s mouth dropped open at the sight, and when he finally forced his eyes away from the golden bounty to Belle, she was momentarily frightened he would drop to his knees and begin worshiping her. “My…my lady! You’ve done it! You’ve really done it!”

Still in almost as much shock and disbelief as the servant, Belle trusted herself to do nothing but force a smile and incline her head in as confident a manner as possible.

Gathering himself, the servant ducked back out into the hallway and returned with the small cart on which he’d previously loaded the bail of straw. “We must show this to Lord Gaston immediately! He’s already in the throne room waiting.”

Belle’s heart pounded at the mention of Gaston, and she immediately busied herself by helping the servant load up the golden pile, despite his protests. She needed to distract herself, to gain her bearing.

 _~I did this, I spun this,~_ she repeated to herself over and over. _~I had no doubts. I have this power. There was no question I could do it. Be calm.~_

By the time they entered the throne room, Belle had managed to push the worst of her fears well beneath the surface. There was no way they could prove she hadn’t spun the straw. The strange creature had left no traces of himself, no marks on the threads proclaiming them his, and she truly believed that he would take her secret to the grave…assuming one such as he ever died. Besides, the door had remained locked all night, no doubt with a guard posted outside of it. There was no reason to believe anyone other than she had worked this miracle.

In truth, she needn’t have worried, at least not about Gaston. He practically jumped out of his throne in eagerness to approach the cart. The servant had wisely draped the gold with a blanket before bringing it to the Great Hall, so as not to attract undue attention of the courtiers they passed. Gaston hardly acknowledged Belle’s curtsey before ripping off the velvet covering.

For a long moment, the Hall was eerily silent, and Belle forced down a cry of panic. Had the gold suddenly turned back to straw in the unforgiving light of day? Had it simply disappeared into whatever realm the sorcerer had himself come from? Or….

And then Gaston let out a whoop of joy. Grasping a handful of golden thread, he held it aloft for all to see.

“Behold the talent of the miller’s daughter!” he cried. “It is gold!”

The assembled nobles broke out into gasps and cheers, and several even applauded. Belle felt overwhelmed by the undeserved accolades, but forced herself to accept them with grace.

 _~I did this,~_ she reminded herself, over and over. _~I deserve this. I spun straw into gold. I did this.~_

The lies burned even in her own mind, but she knew her survival depended upon them.

With a grand smile, Gaston held out his hand to Belle, and she gingerly grasped it, allowing him to lead her back to his throne.

“You cannot image how pleased I am at your success,” Gaston told her, pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand. “Though it may make me sound like a foolish boy awaiting his Solstice gifts, I confess I scarcely slept last night, so intense was my excitement.”

Belle lowered her eyes in an attempt to appear modest. “I am so grateful to be a source of such joy for you, my lord.”

“Indeed you are that. This gold is truly a sight for sore eyes, and will aid us through the coming winter.” Gaston’s voice took on a regal lilt as he seated himself. “You’ve done your lord a great service, Miss Belle. You are to be rewarded.”

Relief flooded through Belle’s chest, and she immediately sank into a deep curtsey. Despite everything – the impossibility of the task, her hopeless despair, and the unbelievable talents of her unexpected savior – it seemed as though everything might truly be well.

“I thank you, my lord, and I am pleased beyond measure to have contributed to our land’s security. But the only reward I wish is simply to return home and continue serving you alongside my father.”

“Oh, my dear girl, you can’t possibly be thinking of leaving us so soon.”

Belle froze at the new voice, oily and rank with false sincerity. Raising her head, she felt her heart sink.

Captain Hordor smiled down at her from Gaston’s side.

Belle rose immediately, not wishing to prostrate herself before such a man. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, sir,” she replied stiffly, forcing herself to remain calm and polite. “I have done as Lord Gaston requested. May I not be released?”

“Released?” Hordor laughed loudly, though, as always, there was no humor to be found in it. “You make it sound as though we’re holding you captive here.” He smiled widely, a flash of white teeth. “You are a most honored guest, my child, and we simply wish to continue to extend our hospitality.”

Belle’s mouth went dry, and she immediately turned to Gaston in supplication. “My lord, have I not served you well, as you asked? Did you not just promise that I was to be rewarded? I do not understand.”

“My dear, you have indeed served me most excellently,” Gaston assured her, “and I fully intend to see you amply rewarded for your efforts. Believe me, when you are finished here, you will never want for anything ever again.”

“Finished?” Belle repeated faintly. “Am I not…finished, my lord?”

Gaston steepled his fingers together, resting his chin upon them lightly. “I confess I hadn’t thought much beyond this morning, beyond seeing whether or not you’d succeeded in your task. I was simply too overcome with excitement! But my good captain kept a much clearer head, and he extolled the many virtues of having a spinner of gold close to us, for a time, and I find myself in complete agreement.”

Unlike other ladies of her acquaintance, Belle had never been the fainting type. She always believed she was simply made of sterner stuff. But black spots suddenly danced before her eyes, and her head felt as light as a feather.

Surely, _surely_ this couldn’t be happening!

But it appeared that it was, and Gaston continued, thankfully not noticing – or at least choosing to ignore – her sudden paleness.

“Now, I am not suggesting we keep you here indefinitely. Like all magic, I have no doubt yours has its limits, which is why I want to make the most of it now, in case it fades or you become too weak to perform.”

“My lord, please, “ Belle began, “I must___”

“You must do as your lord commands, my girl,” Hordor interjected smoothly, still smiling down at her and clearly relishing her discomfort, which was becoming more and more obvious. “It is his express wish that you remain with us for one more night and spin a larger quantity of gold. This will assure our safety and prosperity through what promises to be a most difficult winter.” The captain slanted her a meaningful look. “You _do_ wish to secure food and shelter for yourself and your father, do you not?”

The threat was clear, and Belle clenched her fists in her skits. She was not a violent woman, but the image of her fingers wrapped around Hordor’s throat was becoming more and more appealing with each passing moment.

“Yes, Captain, I do indeed,” she replied tightly.

“Excellent!” Gaston clapped his hands in glee. “You will remain with us for another night, and we shall provide you with several bales of straw, seeing as your gift seems to be well in hand.”

Familiar fear clenched in her belly. The straw! How was she to ensure its transformation? Surely she could not be so lucky twice.

“My lord, I regret to admit that my…my magic is not yet fully tamed.” Belle fought to think of something – anything! – to buy her time. “Why…why it was nearly dawn before it began to finally work! In truth I was about to admit defeat and beg you to give me another night. It was only pure luck that I was able to harness it long enough for one bale.”

Gaston gave her a patronizing smile. “My poor dear. You worked so hard to please me. Such devotion is truly exceptional.”

_~Devotion? Ha! Self-preservation is _much_ more accurate!~_

It took little effort to call upon her genuine exhaustion, and Belle raised half-lidded eyes to meet Gaston’s. “I am so weary, my lord,” she murmured, pitching her voice low and meek. “I truly fear I will not have the energy to perform again so soon. I beg of you, allow me to return home. Let me rest, gather my strength, replenish my…my powers. I will serve you much better in this way, I swear it.”

Gaston appeared to consider her request, but before he could come to a decision, Hordor stepped forward.

“My lord, far be it from me to cast suspicion on such a lovely and talented young lady.” He practically leered at Belle, and she felt herself unwillingly shrink back from his lascivious gaze. “But it sounds to me as though she is putting her own needs and comfort before yours. Serving you is the highest honor one could ask for, no matter how difficult or wearisome. This the first thing every soldier learns.” He gave Belle a look that could burn ice. “She is indeed talented, but she is still at _your_ command, as are we all. She should know her place.”

Belle’s mouth dropped open in outrage – she was certainly no soldier and should not be compared to one! – but a wave of Gaston’s hand silenced her. “Captain Hordor is correct,” he proclaimed. “I understand your concerns and your weariness, but it has been my experience that the best results come from the most difficult tasks. It is my wish that you remain here and spin again tonight, and so you shall. I have spoken.”

Belle could do nothing but bow her head in acquiescence, but she refused to give up entirely, forcing her mind to work despite her fear. If she was to spin again this night, she had only one chance to survive. She had to hope and pray that her strange benefactor would appear again to make another deal.

And for that, she needed something…precious.

“If that is my lord’s wish, I will, of course, obey. I am my lord’s most humble servant. However, I do plead with you to grant me one small request.” She gestured to her clothing. “Though I am so far below the rank of the great ladies who attend you, I fear I share the same kinds of womanly vanity.” For the first time in her life, Belle attempted to harness the physical allure everyone claimed she possessed. Looking up at Gaston through lowered lashes, she swayed forward, swinging her hips ever so slightly and arching her shoulders back to call attention to her rather well-endowed chest.

“I’ve spent all day and all night in this gown. I feel dusty and dirty from the straw, my hair is a fright, and I am no fit company for my common friends, to say nothing of your exalted status. I long to feel clean clothing upon my skin…to appreciate its soft, smooth texture.” Belle saw Gaston’s eyes darken, hoping he was picturing that same clothing sliding across her bare skin, even though the thought made her feel ill. She took a step forward, continuing to swing her hips just slightly. “Please, allow me to return home briefly. Let me change my clothing, refresh my hair, make myself suitable for your presence. It will do a world of good and restore my spirits.” She lowered her voice and forced her lips into a slow and – she hoped – alluring smile. “When I return I shall do everything in my power to give you all that you desire. I promise.”

And though her words and actions left Belle feeling more dirty than any clothing could possibly become, she knew by the flair of his nostrils and the glint in his eyes that she had won.

“How could I possibly refuse such a request?” he murmured, and his eyes swept over her figure, practically undressing her without even a touch. Belle tried to keep from squirming. “An hour or two should make little difference, and I can see how much comfort it would bring you.” He flicked a hand at Hordor. “You and two soldiers will escort Miss Belle back to her cottage and allow her time to refresh herself. By the time she returns, I shall have her straw ready and waiting.”

Of course, Hordor could not lose even so small a battle easily. He gave a low bow, and replied smoothly, “If that is your command, it shall be done without fail, my lord, but if I may offer a small suggestion? There is in fact no need for Miss Belle to leave the castle, if all she wishes is to make herself worthy of your presence. We have gowns aplenty here, finer than any she could hope to have in her little home. Why, we could even provide her with the luxury of a warm bath, and a maid for her hair! She would be much better taken care of here.”

Before Gaston could even respond, Belle placed her hands on her hips and gave Hordor what she hoped was a most withering stare.

“As kind an offer as this is, the good captain clearly knows nothing of women,” she retorted. “It is of course true that the clothing you could provide me with would be of much higher quality, but it is practically an insult to even suggest it! Why, I challenge you to find a lady, even in this august circle, who would consent to wear another woman’s clothing, even for a day!”

Belle threw out her arm to encompass the courtiers behind her, and even without turning, the shocked gasps of horror were all she could ask for. Of course, she herself would not care in the least, but she knew female vanity ran extremely deep amongst the nobility.

Gaston let out a booming laugh at such feminine outrage, and he gestured to his captain. “The ladies, it seems, have spoken. While our gowns would no doubt become Miss Belle to perfection, we shall allow her the courtesy of her own.” He gave her a look of such sickening indulgence that Belle wanted to claw it from his face. “Such a trifling thing to us is, clearly, a source of great import to the fairer sex.”

Sweeping a low curtsey to hid her face, Belle merely replied, “As always, my lord is most generous and understanding.”

“Of course, my sweet of course.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “But do not dally too long. Be assured I will await your return with _much_ eagerness.”

Swallowing hard, Belle could only nod, and then Hordor was leading her out of the Great Hall.

She’d may have won this tiny battle, but clearly her war was far from over.


	7. Something Precious

Belle felt like a horrible daughter for even thinking such a thing, but she dearly hoped her father would not be home when she arrived at their cottage. She had no idea how to explain to him what happened - the truth was clearly out of the question but neither did she want him dancing about town with the idea she actually _had_ spun straw into gold! - and with Hordor’s keen eyes on her, she didn’t want to take any chances that her ruse would be discovered.

Besides, she had a lot of work to do, and she doubted the good captain would grant her much time. She didn’t need to be slowed down by anything...or anyone.

If Maurice stuck to his regular schedule, she’d have nothing to worry about, as he’d be busy with the running of the mill, but this was hardly an ordinary day. If nothing else, she hoped he’d sought comfort with James or Thomas and their families, and was perhaps still with them.

When the royal carriage halted in front of her cottage, Belle did not wait for Hordor to open her door. She jumped out on her own, earning a glare that she pointedly ignored.

“Thank you for your transportation, Captain. I shall require several hours at the very least to make myself presentable. You and your men may wait for me out here.”

Hordor stalked over to her and grasped her upper arms tightly, sending a shooting spasm of fear straight into her stomach. She felt she _had_ to retain the upper hand with him, lest he simply crush her with his will alone, but if she pushed too far....

“Listen to me, girl, and listen well,” he said lowly. “No one orders _me_ around, least of all a little lying slip of a child.” His eyes nearly glowed with hated. “I’ve known men like your father all my life. Men who have nothing of value to their names, but who will do whatever it takes - lie, cheat or steal - to gain favor and riches, and that’s exactly what he’s done by telling this tale. I don’t know how you turned that pile of straw into gold, but you sure as hell didn’t spin it, and I will not rest until I expose you for the fraud you are.” He shook her slightly, making her teeth rattle. “Until that time, you may be in Lord Gaston’s favor, but as soon as I discover your secret, I’ll drag you before the entire court and have you both executed for treason!” He leaned close, his breath hot in her face and he suddenly smiled. “Unless, of course, you beg sweetly enough that I’m persuaded to make an exception. Do I make myself entirely clear?”

Belle lifted her her chin, staring him straight in the eye, even as her heart felt as though it would pound out of her chest and her skin slithered in revulsion at his threat. _~Do the brave thing and bravery will follow...~_

“I suggest you unhand me this instant, Captain,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Whether or not I’m a fraud, I’m still ordered to spin for Lord Gaston tonight, and I’m sure you’d hate to explain to him why my arms are too bruised to turn the wheel.”

Hordor held her for another moment, his eyes still burning with an anger Belle would never understand.

“Your day will come,” he vowed. “Wait and see.”

He released her then, and Belle felt the blood slowly seep back into her arms. She would indeed sport bruises by the evening. Hordor jerked his head toward the cottage. “Go. Do what you must. You have one hour.”

“But I require____”

“One. Hour. If you’re not ready by then, I’ll take you back in whatever state of undress you might find yourself.” The anger was suddenly replaced by the leer, which honestly frightened her more. 

Holding her head high, Belle walked stiffly into her house and slammed the door shut and bolted it. She knew it wouldn’t keep out trained soldiers if they chose to come in, but it made her feel better nonetheless.

Barricaded and alone, Belle fell back against the wall and allowed herself exactly one minute of pure terror.

Hordor knew she didn’t spin the gold. Of course he did. How could she? It was impossible! He had no proof - not yet - but he’d be watching her more closely than ever. 

_~...executed for treason...~_

Belle shuddered. He’d do it, too. Based on the complete and total anger she’d seen in his eyes, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

So much for mere banishment.

Swallowing hard, Belle pushed herself back up and headed for her room.

She still had work to do.

**************************************************************************

When Belle told Hordor she needed several hours to complete her tasks, she did so knowing he would at least halve any timeframe she gave him. While an hour would certainly make things tight, it was at least do-able. 

After ensuring all her shutters were tightly closed, she tore off the pale green dress she’d been wearing. She hadn’t been entirely lying when she told Gaston she felt dirty and out of sorts, though much of it was more mental than physical. Her chemise clung to her skin as though it had been painted on, possibly from the many cold sweats she’d experienced last eve. Although she didn’t want to, in case Hordor decided to make good on his threat to catch her in a state of undress, she forced herself to strip completely so she could have the quickest sponge bath of her entire life. There was hardly any water left in her little ewer from the previous evening, but she used what she could and felt better for it. 

Dashing to her small closet, she pulled out one of her sturdiest petticoats and a dark blue dress made of thick wool. It was overly hot for the season, even with the early frosts, but her plan required good, strong material that was thick enough to conceal her treasure.

She knew that anything Hordor saw her take out of her home would be subject to his examination, thus it was imperative he saw nothing at all.

Belle quickly donned a fresh shift and a new pair of stockings, then wrapped herself in a threadbare robe for warmth. Removing her tiny sewing kit from its shelf, she seated herself on the bed with her dress and petticoat and set to work with her silver shears.

Though it pained her damage her best clothes, exile and death would be much worse, so Belle firmly pushed any regret out of her mind as she began cutting a square out of her petticoat. Unfortunately, the object she wished to take was too large to be hidden anywhere directly on her person, so she planned to improvise by making a pocket on the interior of her dress. If she was being completely honest, she wasn’t absolutely certain even her thickest underskirt was sturdy enough to hold her treasure, but it was the best idea she had come up with.

Taking the large scrap of fabric, Belle tossed aside the petticoat and began sewing three of the four sides to the inside of her dress. She had to force down her inclination to make large, loose stitches that would allow her to complete the pocket faster, but would no doubt make it even more certain that her object would fall. Pressing her lips together, she ordered herself to make the stitches as small and tight as she dared, hoping that Hordor would actually provide her with the hour he promised. She was a talented seamstress - it was one of the few abilities of which her father had no need to exaggerate - but this would push her to her very limits.

Less than a year ago, Belle was asked by one of their wealthier neighbors to embroider a wedding gown for her daughter, and when presented with the delicate fabric and thin, almost invisible, thread, she’d nearly panicked. Her hands had shook more than she’d ever imagined they could, terrified she’d rip the lace or damage the satin with her clumsiness. In the end, everything had turned out perfectly, but Belle had been certain that would always remain the most nerve-wracking sewing experience of her life.

She now wished fervently that she’d been right.

Belle had just finished her last stitch when she heard the front door of her cottage slam open, and raucous laughter floated up the stairs. If she had to guess, Hordor and his two companions had been enjoying themselves at the local tavern. In one way, this played into her hands, as an intoxicated captain was less likely to notice any small detail that seemed amiss with her appearance. On the other, she had enough time fending off his lecherous gaze when he was sober. There was simply no way to win.

Praying to any gods who were listening that her plan would work, Belle shook off her robe and yanked on the torn petticoat, which remained undamaged at the hem, and quickly slipped her blue gown over it. With trembling hands, she laced her bodice, Hodor’s mere presence inducing her to pull them tighter than normal. The, her heart beating wildly with hope, she removed her object from its place on her bedside table, and placed it gently in her makeshift pocket.

It just barely fit, and she could feel it weighing down the right side of her dress, but the pocket did not tear and her treasure did not fall out.

Belle allowed herself one moment to sign in abject relief.

Perhaps she’d earned the right for at least _one_ thing to turn out well.

Hordor shouted for her loudly at that moment, his voice ever so slightly slurred, and threatened to drag her out by her ears if she wasn’t downstairs within the minute. Calling her agreement, Belle ran a comb through her chestnut curls - which were quite lanky now - and bound it up with a ribbon. Hordor might not have any idea what a woman should look like after “freshening up,” but Gaston would surely expect an improvement. She knew the blue of the dress set off her eyes, and she hoped he’d be too distracted by that to notice that she hadn’t actually spent any time on her appearance.

When Hordor gave a second warning, she heard his booted feet begin to clomp up the stairs. she hurriedly stuffed her feet into her shoes and exited her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She hadn’t had any spare time to put her sewing kit back together, and she didn’t want to give even the barest hint that she’d done anything out of the ordinary.

“Such impatience, Captain,” she noted, in what she hoped was a bored tone as she met him halfway down the stairs. “I informed you I was coming, but I wasn’t about to leave my hair unfinished.”

Hordor gave her a penetrating look that belied his intoxication, raking her form from the crown of her head to the tips of her shoes. Belle hoped the pounding of her heart was not audible to him, as she awaited his response. There was, she knew, the slightest bulge in her dress where she’d sewn her pocket, and if ever he was going to notice it, now would certainly be the time.

“Well, well, well. I suppose even poor little millers’ daughters can make something of themselves when the need arises.”

Suddenly, he reached out and grasped her by the back of the neck, drawing her firmly against his body. His hand was overheated, no doubt from drink, and for one brief, horrible moment, Belle feared he meant to plaster his wet lips against hers.

But instead he only smiled, that same horrible, eerie smile that made her shiver with revulsion.

“Just remember what I said earlier, pretty girl. Enjoy yourself now, because when I expose you for the fraud that you are, it’ll be the end of all your hopes and dreams. Now showers of jewels and fine clothes, no reward for your father’s falsehoods. And then you’ll be _begging_ me to save you from the headsman.”

Belle bit back her instant retort, that she’d much sooner die than ask for his particular brand of mercy, but she managed to hold her ground and met his stare, refusing to be cowed even by such threats.

“I believe it’s time to return to the castle, Captain.” She tossed her head back, dislodging his hand. “Lord Gaston is waiting.”

It was only as she climbed into the carriage, initially thankful simply to be away from Hordor’s dreadful gaze, that she realized her plan had worked.

Tucked snugly in its pocket, Belle felt her most prized possession resting against her leg, and she let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

Despite Hordor’s threats and angry words, she’d done it. Even when she’d been right up against him, he hadn’t noticed a thing. For one more night, at least, she’d be safe.

Belle leaned back against the cushioned seat, closing her eyes in exhaustion.

_~Please, gods, let one more night be enough!~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea if Belle's pocket idea is actually possible, much less whether I had her sew it in any realistic way, but it fit my needs and so I used it. If it is truly impossible, just pretend she had a little help from someone watching over her who happens to be really, really talented with his hands, not to mention thread! :)


	8. Fairy Stories

To Belle’s intense relief, Gaston did not appear to require anything of her other than to see she had indeed returned to the castle as promised. Though clearly vain and arrogant, she knew his sharp eyes did not miss much, and the longer she was in his presence, the higher the chance he’d notice nothing was amiss with her skirt. 

Instead, he seemed more concerned with praising her beauty and noticing - as she’d hoped - how well her new gown complemented her eyes. He spent a few moments practically undressing her with _his_ eyes, and she bore it as stoically as she could, hoping he’d mistake her high color for maidenly blushes. If nothing else, at least he lacked Hordor’s sickening leer.

“I’ve prepared the same room for you, and several bales of straw are already awaiting your attention,” Gaston concluded. “You’ll also find a small supper, as I’ve no doubt you’ll require all your strength during the night.”

Belle dipped a curtsey. “My lord is very generous, as always.” She hadn’t noticed hunger pains until he made mention of the food, but she was suddenly ravenous. “As I said last evening, I shall endeavour to complete my task before the morning, but I do beg your pardon if I require more time.” She gave him what she hoped was a winsome smile. “I do so wish to please you, sir, and I hope you will forgive my failings in light of my diligence.”

Gaston gave her a smile that put her in mind of a poodle getting its head patted by an indulgent master. “Believe me, Miss Belle, yours is a gift well worth waiting for.” Waving a hand, he dismissed her, and Hordor grasped her arm firmly and led her from the room.

“You can bat your eyes all you like, but it won’t win you an indefinite amount of time,” he informed her, as though she didn’t already know. “I’m posting two of my most trusted guards right outside your room for the entire night, so don’t think you can get away with any foolishness.”

“I assure you, Captain, that your guards will have a very boring night,” Belle retorted, struggling to keep up with his brisk walk in her long dress. “But by all means, allow them to stand there, if it sets your mind at ease.”

Hordor practically threw her into her little tower room, and she blanched when she saw what awaited her. Several bales indeed! Half the room was covered in straw, and a part of her wondered how Gaston expected her to spin so much in one night, assuming she actually _was_ doing the spinning.

Hordor grinned at her consternation, and he tossed her a sardonic salute.

“Have a pleasant evening, my dear. I do look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind her, and Belle was once again left alone with a spinning wheel and room full of straw.

Life, she was beginning to understand, was sometimes _supremely_ unfair.

****************

Before she did anything else - before she even allowed herself to properly _think_ about the task before her, Belle forced herself to sit down on her little stool and eat. Gaston had provided her with a hearty stew, full of fresh vegetables and tender meat, along with a thick slice a bread spread with honey. A pitcher of water slaked her thirst. The food was delicious, though she could hardly taste a thing, but she forced herself to finish every bite. Gaston had been right about one thing, if nothing else - she most assuredly needed her strength this night.

Her hunger sated, Belle placed the empty tray near the door and stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the room. There was no denying that Gaston held her talents in high esteem, or perhaps his avarice was simply that great. Belle was more grateful than ever that she would not be the one spinning such a large amount of straw. She couldn’t recall exactly how long it had taken the strange being the previous night to work with the single bale, but surely his magic would allow him to speed up the process if necessary? Or perhaps he could even delay the dawn from coming, if he so wished. Belle frowned, her lack of magical understanding vexing her. In any case, she certainly hoped it would not present a problem.

Her hands itched to do something - anything - but her failures last night had proven how completely incapable she was of performing this task. She was as well prepared as she could possibly be, and she patted her hidden pocket reassuringly. All she could do now was wait. The little man had come once. He would surely come again. They’d strike their bargain, he’d employ his strange powers, and her life would once again be saved.

Yes. All she had to do was wait, and all would turn out well. Of course it would.

It must.

But hours passed and all did _not_ turn out well. Belle hugged her arms to herself, pacing her chamber for what felt like the thousandth time. True, he had not come immediately the previous evening, but she had thought...hoped...that he would perhaps come to her sooner this night. That he might have chosen to look out for her, to see if she required his assistance once again. After all, she’d already proven herself at his deal-making, and he knew her troubles. Surely that counted for something!

And yet he did not come. Belle lost track of the time easily, but she knew at least half the night had passed, and still she was alone. Belle forced herself to keep calm, not to give into the panic and despair of the previous evening. She was prepared. She was confident. But why oh _why_ did he not come? He’d seemed so eager to help, so interested in her plight. Why assist her one time and not the next? He’d come all the way across the kingdom before, or so he claimed, following her sobs, her need, her....

Desperation.

Belle stopped in her tracks, her hand suddenly at her throat.

Could it be so simple?

Yes. Yes it could. The imp had told her so himself, hadn’t he? More than once. He trafficked with desperate souls only. Their need called to him, drew him irresistibly. And had she not just thought about how she was _refusing_ to feel the same desperation this night?

It had all seemed so simple. She’d formed a plan, she carried it out, and she waited for all the pieces to fit together, doing her best to keep calm and level-headed. But calm, it seemed, was exactly the opposite of what she needed.

So Belle took a deep breath, let her straight back curl under the weight of her suddenly heavy shoulders, and allowed her brave mask crumble into so much dust. She focused on the thought of him _not_ coming, of Hordor’s gloating eyes, of herself and her father being cast out of their home...assuming they were lucky enough to survive. One single image of a headsman’s axe and Belle’s heart suddenly jumped into triple time.

And in that moment, she was truly desperate.

“Well _finally_!”

Belle’s head whipped up, and there, leaning against the wall in gold velvet and brown leather, was her savior. Breath left her in a heavy puff as she she stumbled forward to greet him, and she saw to her surprise what might have been annoyance - and perhaps anxiety? - in his dark, fathomless eyes.

“You came,” she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, practically glaring at her. “You certainly didn’t make it easy, dearie. I had about given up on you!”

Belle blinked. This was not at all the reaction she was expecting. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do,” he retorted. “You just figured it out, after all. Desperation calls me. Nothing more, nothing less. Until you sucuumed to it, I couldn’t assist you.” His voice, while still high-pitched and almost manic, held an undercurrent of darkness. “You took your own sweet time about it, too! I was about ready to plot some sort of intervention on your behalf!”

Belle’s heart fluttered. He hadn’t been ignoring her! He’d been watching over her, just as she’d hoped!. “You mean...you mean you’ve been here, all this time? Waiting for me to become...desperate?” 

He gave a single, sharp nod.”Now you’re getting it.”

“But...but why couldn’t you just come? I don’t understand.”

The imp sighed, and what little anger she’d sensed in him seemed to deflate. “Of course you don’t, nor should you. It’s not something you’d ever have reason to think on.” He gave her a smile and flourished his hands, looking more like the confident sorcerer from the previous evening. “It is a complex subject, but it can be distilled easily. All magic has its price, even the smallest tricks. The larger the spell, the greater the toll. The price of my deal-making is desperation. Without it, my contracts are little more than empty words.” His lip twisted. “Useless.”

“I...think I see.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry I took so long to understand, in that case, and I’m glad... _very_ glad...that you waited for me.” She averted her eyes shyly. “And that you were looking out for me in the first place. Thank you.”

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s no matter.”

“It is to me,” Belle replied, her voice hardly above a whisper, but his sharp look told her he’d heard her anyway.

“In any case, I’m here now, so the point is moot.” He rubbed his hands together, and his eyes suddenly fixed on her skirt, precisely where her hidden pocket was located. Her heart gave another leap. She’d been under constant supervision all day, and no one had noticed her item, but two minutes in _his_ presence and he knew! “Despite the delay, I must admit an...interest in the cause of your confidence in the face of such adversity.” He reached out delicately, the tip of his finger just barely touching her skit. “What’s your little secret, dearie?”

Belle blushed slightly, her rather devious plan sounding so much sillier here, now, with her savior. “As soon as Gaston told me he was forcing me to spin again tonight, I knew making another deal with you was my only hope. But I truly had nothing of value with which to bargain, so I persuaded him to allow me to return home. I said I needed to freshen up, make myself beautiful for him.” She made a face. “It was a terrible line, but he bought it completely.”

The imp’s eyes had darkened almost imperceptibly when she mentioned beautifying herself for Gaston, but they immediately cleared with her last comment.

“More fool he.” Another flourishing hand gesture. “Continue, continue.”

“Hordor, the captain of the guards, wasn’t fooled quite as well, so he gave me only an hour to myself, but it was enough.” She patted her dress. “I made a hidden pocket so I could transport something...something precious back with me, to offer as a trade for you spinning again. Although....” Belle suddenly hesitated. “I’m sorry, I had no idea there would be so much more of it tonight. I brought something _very_ important to me, but I’m not sure if it’s worth...” she gestured to the straw-covered room, “...all this.”

“Ah ah ah!” He grinned and waved a finger in front of her nose. “I can see you’re still thinking in terms of human bargaining. This is a larger job, yes, but as long as the object is equally precious in your eyes, it will count. Never fear.” He hesitated for one moment. “And that was quite a cunning plan, dearie. Very clever indeed. Almost worthy of a deal in and of itself. You should be proud.”

Belle felt her cheeks warm again, but this time in happiness. None but her papa ever praised her cleverness, and even then he did it in a very indulgent way. Her father loved her beyond words, it was true, but he was still old-fashioned enough to believe her primary value lay in her ability to find herself a handsome, wealthy and powerful husband. To be honestly praised for her mind alone was wonderful beyond words.

“Now.” The sorcerer eyed her skirt again, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Let’s see what your lovely little plan has wrought, shall we?”

Hoping against hope that, after everything she went through, Belle had chosen well, she nodded. Turning slightly to preserve her modesty, she raised her skirt and reached into her pocket, grasping the familiar object with fondness. Letting her skirt fall, she turned back around and offered her prize.

“A...book?”

Belle watched him steadily as he stared at the well-read novel, with its tattered cover and slightly discolored pages. For reasons she couldn’t explain, much less admit, his reaction was extremely important to her. He tilted his head slightly, gazing at the offering with unblinking eyes.

“A book,” he repeated, this time a statement a fact. He was surprised, clearly, and more than a little confused, but he was not - and Belle was now _quite_ sure of this - he was _not_ in the least bit derogatory or demeaning.

Thank heavens.

“A book,” Belle agreed, still holding it out to him. “My favorite book, to be exact. It’s nothing serious, nothing important in the long run. Just a book of fairy stories told to children. But...” She couldn’t help the smile the played across her face. “But it’s my most prized possession in the entire world.”

‘Yes.” The word was hardly a breath from between his lips. “I could feel your love as soon as I touched you mother’s shawl, last evening, but this...” He reached out slowly, almost hesitantly. “I can sense it already, with this. It...radiates.” He looked at her with something akin to wonder. “This...does not happen often. You should know that.”

“In that case, I feel sorry for the other people with whom you’ve dealt,” Belle replied honestly. “I can’t imagine not having something so important in my life. It’s comforted me more times than I can count. Whenever I felt sad or scared growing up, I’d read this, and suddenly...everything seemed brighter.” A nostalgic look stole across her eyes. “And then there were days when I simply wanted to be transported into a different world, one filled with magic and wonder and happy endings. This book shaped my life in so many ways. I could never love another object more.”

“I’ve never before heard anyone speak so passionately about a book.” His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the proffered item. “Yet another...anomaly.”

“Trust me, I know.” She gave a somewhat bitter laugh. “I’ve been teased for loving books for as long as I can remember. Even now, people talk like it’s some sort of phase I’ll grow out of.” She hesitated. “I know it’s my most important possession, but because of that...stigma... I was unsure, in the beginning, of offering it . Just in case you...” She bit her lip and looked away.

“Ah, dearie.” Reaching out, he finally took the book from her hand, cradling it gently. “I’m a monster in many ways, there’s no mistaking that, but I’ve never once insulted that which is precious to someone. I don’t intend to start now.”

Belle felt her heart leap. “Then...we have a deal? The book for spinning this straw into gold?”

The imp didn’t respond immediately, and Belle saw that he’d opened the book, his hand gently caressing the worn pages.

“‘To my dearest Belle, on her fifth birthday,’” he read, and Belle could picture the inscription at the top of the title page, written in her father’s carless scrawl. “‘All my love...Papa.’” Glancing back up, he fixed her with a stare she couldn’t read. “Belle. Your name is Belle?”

“I...yes. Yes it is.” Had they truly never introduced themselves? Last night _had_ been a whirlwind, but even so, she thought she had better manners than that!

“Belle.” He repeated her name, rolling it around on his tongue, almost as though he were savoring it, like a fine wine. “Beauty. How fitting.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” Belle begged, wringing her hands awkwardly. “I _hate_ when people start talking like that. I know I’ll never live up to the meaning, and most days I wish my parents had had more sense when naming me, but...”

“I wouldn’t worry on that account, dearie.” His voice was deeper, almost gruff. “Your parents named you truly, never doubt it.”

“But___”

He cut her off with an almost agitated wave of his hand. “I may traffic mainly in deals, but names are a speciality of mine, and yours is most perfectly fitting. Meditate on that, if you so desire. For right now, we have work to do.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Belle shook her head. His moods were changing too rapidly for her to keep up, and besides, he was right. “We do have a deal, then?”

The trickster magician again, he gave her a flourishing bow. “Indeed we do, my lady. And since you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, it is time for me to do the same.” With a wave, he banished her book to the same pocket of subspace that presumably held her mother’s shawl - and whatever other trinkets he’d acquired over the years - and then seated himself upon the stool.

Remembering her part, Belle immediately grasped a large handful of straw and placed it into his waiting hand.

It was time for magic once again.

*****************

Despite the fact that he arrived later than the previous night _and_ there was an increase in the amount of straw, he seemed to finish in the same amount of time, making her wonder if his magic _had_ done something to change the flow of the hours. Drawn was just starting to break when her last handful of straw became gold, and he slowed the wheel with tip of his finger against the wood.

“The deal is complete,” he said softly, gazing up at her, and Belle couldn’t help but smile.

“Once again, I don’t know how to thank you.” Belle gestured to the glittering room surrounding her. “It’s quite possible that you’ve saved my life twice over now, and all you’ve received in return is a shawl and a book. And yes, I know their worth to you is more than their face value,” she added, seeing him opening his mouth to protest. “But you keep noting that I think of things in human terms, and alas, I _am_ human.” She shook her head. “I’m glad you think it a fair price, but I’m afraid I’ll never be able to see it as you do.”

“Well, it’s not terribly surprising, when you put it like that,” he agreed, slapping his knees before rising. “But the magic is satisfied, and therefore I am as well, so we might as well just leave it at that.”

“Magic and deals and prices.” Belle’s voice held a hint of longing. “It sounds like you live in a world with very different rules than mine. I wish...” She felt her cheeks redden once more. “I wish I could learn more about it. I’m too curious, everyone says so, but I just can’t _help_ it!”

“Curiosity is all well and good, but you should, perhaps, be grateful that this is not something you must understand.” He frowned. “Magic can be a difficult mistress, and displeasing her is not an option.”

“It sounds like a heavy burden,” Belle said sympathetically, and he jerked his head up at that.

“It is a burden I willingly carry, make no doubt of that,” he retorted. “Those _without_ power possess a far worse load, I assure you.”

Once again, Belle’s curiosity was piqued, but his agitation had returned and she was unwilling to badger him further, especially when she still felt herself to be in his debt.

“In any event, I thank you once again for your assistance.” She looked once more at the gold surrounding them. “While I enjoy your company, I hope with all my heart this will be the last time we must meet under such circumstances.”

“For your sake, I hope so as well, but human greed is endless. It is a hunger that can never be sated. The more one has of it, the more one wants.”

Belle’s heart plummeted. “You believe this is going to happen again? That he’ll just keep using me, night after night, while Hordor waits by his side for me to fail?”

“Not forever, no.” He winked suddenly. “You’ve proven yourself far too clever for that, after all. I have no doubt you’d manage to worm your way out of such an event, once you put your mind to it.” The twitter vanished. “But you are, perhaps, too hopeful of this being the end. I don’t believe your trials are yet over.”

“Can you...can you see the future, then?”

His lip twisted. “In a manner of speaking, but not with any high degree of accuracy. The future is a puzzle, dearie, and most of the pieces are might-have-beens that will never actually occur. Putting the picture together clearly is well nigh impossible. But I know the human heart and the human mind, and I know desperation when I feel it. And that man out there?” A thin smile crossed his lips. “He wants gold more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life, I can promise you that.”

Belle’s stomach felt like a lead ball. “I can’t keep this up for much longer,” she admitted. “Even assuming I’m able to continue procuring items to trade you, one of these times, something will go wrong, and that’ll be the end. I’ve got to find a way to stop it.”

“And so you shall, I have no doubt.”

“But...in the meantime...you _will_ continue to help me, won’t you?” Belle didn’t need to call forth her desperation now. It was simply there, waiting to consume her at the horrible prospect of being Gaston’s personal spinner until the day she died.

The imp smiled. “When two people want something the other has, a deal can always be struck. And you know how to summon me with ease now. I don’t foresee a problem with our dealings, dearie, have no fear.”

Belle let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Good. That’s...that’s good.”

“And now, I must depart. One of your guards is currently receiving orders to unlock your cell.” He gave a high-pitched laugh. “Don’t need to be giving them a fright with me around!”

Dropping into a quick curtsy, Belle offered him one last smile. “Thank you once again. I am indebted to you beyond measure.”

“Oh, lovely Belle.” He gave her a dark smile. “I told you once never to make a creature like me such an offer, and I’ll say it again now. The deal is struck, the magic appeased, and you should never, _ever_ owe me anything. Such a circumstance would be...” his eyes flicked to hers briefly, “...dangerous.”

Belle offered him a true, heartfelt smile, and unlike those she gave to Gaston and Hordor, she dearly hope he accepted it for what it was.

“After all this? I think I can handle a little danger.” She took a step forward and offered her hand, her eyes never leaving his. “Trust me.”

The imp looked at her for a long moment, and with a glance at her offered hand, he turned on his heel and disappeared, an unreadable expression on his face.

It was only then, as she heard the key turn in the lock of her room, that she realized he now knew her name, but she’d neglected to ask his.

That small, simple fact shouldn’t mean a thing, and yet....

Perhaps it was because he claimed names were a speciality of his, or maybe it was because one of the fairy stories in the book she’d just given him made mention of names possessing hidden powers, but she somehow knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was important.

If they ever met again, Belle vowed it would be the first question she asked.


End file.
